


overbite

by honeyflow



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Biting, It Doesn't End Happily, Masked Savior, Vague plotlines, Zombies, sure do love me some vagueness with my plot!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 12:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyflow/pseuds/honeyflow
Summary: After a while, being bitten doesn’t hurt.





	overbite

**Author's Note:**

> another entry for bad things happen bingo. prompt: biting.

He’d zoned out after the sixth or seventh bite. The infected were all around him, cradling his head and clutching greedily onto his limbs, patiently waiting their turn in the buffet-style meal that was Kim Yoosung, spread out unwillingly on the tarmac he’d been so unluckily pinned upon.

The smell of rot was thick in his nose, viscous and overpowering as the ooze that seeped from the infected’s roiling sores and not-quite-effective gunshot wounds. Teeth, dark and sick and painted with infection, dug into his forearm, ripping another chunk of alabaster flesh from what his left arm had to offer. The former businessman feasting upon him jerked the flesh and muscle from his bone with an animalistic growl, viscera clinging to his knifelike teeth as he chewed openly, loudly, with both hands wrapped tightly around Yoosung’s arm like he’d had anywhere to go.

The person to his side – smaller than the businessman but just as vicious – waited patiently for her turn to gnaw on him. From behind crooked glasses, beady, blackened eyes stared through Yoosung’s own, as if she could visualize what his brain may look like, all pink and wrinkly and fresh.

But, Yoosung thought, because somewhere, he had the presence to, the infection would have definitely spread to his brain by the time they got to it. The virus itself spread across Seoul in a matter of days, and contact with the outside world was all but gone in just under two weeks. Those who had the luxury of escaping via port were likely still at sea, and the rest were in the same position as he: doing their best to survive, until they didn’t.

Pain tore sharply through his abdomen, and for the first time since he’d been surrounded, Yoosung screamed. Impatient, one of the grotesque pseudo-humans positioned at his leg made a play for his stomach, plunging bony, filthy fingers through the cotton of his shirt and into his abdomen, ripping through his navel and piercing down to his organs. The sensation was blinding and ungodly, like having a colony of worms suddenly plague his insides.

Yoosung twitched and writhed, unable to neither think nor speak. Something short of a scream clawed at the back of his throat, overtaken by bile that had been forced up into his throat. Hands continued to dig through his middle, squelching as they did. Blood covered the infected’s palms, spattering across both his clothes and Yoosung’s, though the mischievous glint in his eye told Yoosung he didn’t mind; he was merely here to play.

Yoosung was glad things hadn’t changed much.

At one side, the businessman continued his meal, having progressed up to his elbow. At the other, the one with the crooked glasses continued to wait her turn, though she had begun to make a play for his neck. She was gentle with her nails, which were short with a coat of polish over them, almost highlighting the dirt and grime caught deep beneath her overgrown nail tips.

The polish was a simple clear coat, likely a cosmetic remnant of her previous life. A hint of brown shone in those dark eyes, and for a moment he felt like he’d gotten his friend back. He knew that deep down, Jaehee was against the things her body was doing, that Seven would never make such a mess of his insides and that Jumin wouldn’t so easily make a meal of him.

He knew these were merely side effects of the infection. Maybe they chose him as their dinner because they missed him, or because they wanted him to join the party.

Jumin, with the appetite he’d never admit to having, continued to gnash at Yoosung’s arm; his muscle was all but gone at this point. It hurt, sure, but these were his friends. He’d forgive them.

As his vision began to blur and grey, Yoosung thought back to his last few memories before the world shifted. Or, he tried really, really hard to. The harder he tried to focus on something, the further it would drift from him. The most he could recall was the touch of MC’s hand, and perhaps, if he allowed himself to slip into whatever lie ahead, he could envision the slope of her lips, supple and coy as they spoke sweet words meant for his ears only.

There were gunshots and muzzle flash, and the hands making a mess of him fell limp. Boots clicked against the pavement, and the glare of the sun was obstructed by the person suddenly standing over him. The only thing Yoosung could focus on was their hair; an endless length of silk thrown neatly over their shoulder. They kicked at the corpses surrounding his body, then knelt down, tired, droopy eyes meeting his own.

Yoosung smiled as hot metal pressed against his temple.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to hit me up on twitter @HON3YFLOW


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